


From the same star

by StarryDreamer



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7857469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryDreamer/pseuds/StarryDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after Jemma Simmons' birth, a signature had appeared at the underside of her wrist indicating the name of her soulmate. Unfortunately for her, the odds of finding the right Leo were not in her favour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been slowly transferring the stories I'd posted at FFN to AO3, so if you've been following my work there you may have already read this. This was inspired by a prompt from OTP Prompts on Tumblrs which read "Soulmate AU where everyone is born with the knowledge of their soulmate's first name. Person A and B have common names, but Person B goes by a nickname instead so Person A doesn't know their first name until knowing them for a while." I changed a few story points to suit our favourite couple.

In 1987, the National Archives listed the most popular first name for girls as being Jemma, while the most popular name for boys was Leo. The suspected reason for this was because a pair of fraternal twins had been born to a couple who had starred on the most watched television program in the country. They’d called their twins Leo and Jemma, and as a result of their popularity thousands of parents named their newborns the same. Statisticians called it the Year of the Jewelled Lion. 

Shortly after Jemma Simmons’ birth, a clumsy signature had appeared at the underside of her wrist indicating the name of her soulmate. For most girls it was an easy wait until their 18th birthday when lists of Daniels and Michaels and Davids born in their year made the rounds on social media. Unfortunately for Jemma Simmons though, she’d been born in the Year of the Jewelled Lion where hundreds of Jemmas looked down and also found the name Leo scrawled upon their own wrists. 

The odds of finding the right Leo seemed insurmountable and practically impossible. 

Jemma didn’t quite believe in mate selection or soulmates, but the government provided monetary rewards to those who’d located their specially deigned partner and the allure of her very own state-of-the-art lab space was far too irresistible. So, from the moment she’d turned 18, she set out to meet as many Leos as possible and see if they were _The One_. Eight years later, she was still searching 

“Another date?” her lab partner Fitz asked, barely looking up from the unidentifiable piece of tech he held in his hand. 

She turned toward him and grimaced at his tone. When she’d first been recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D she’d been insistent that her contract include a caveat about partnerships. She preferred to work alone and hated the thought of sharing her workspace with someone else. But then her workload had become overwhelming and Coulson started to insist that she take on a partner to assist with the tech. After much convincing and one embarrassingly missed deadline, she’d begrudgingly relented and Fitz was brought into the lab. 

Coulson hadn’t been wrong in his decision; Fitz was her intellectual match, but even after a month of working together, Jemma still wasn’t sure what to make of him. Certainly he was quite handsome, if not a bit pasty, but he was also insufferable. From the moment they’d met, he’d recoiled at her handshake as if her very touch had horrified him. And to make things even more frustrating, he categorically refused to tell her his last name and went to great lengths to hide his security badge from her. She was half tempted to ask Daisy to do a security sweep just so she could learn it.

She slung her purse over her shoulder and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m determined,” she replied simply and firmly. “You may not care about your match finding you, but I refuse to look a gift horse in the mouth and do nothing.” 

Fitz glanced down at the cuff he wore at his wrist which, Jemma assumed, masked his soulmate’s name. “It’s not that I don’t care--”

“It’s just that it’s dictatorial tactics established by the government in order to ensure compliance,” she quoted from memory and rolled her eyes. “And it’s misogynistic forcing women to hunt for a partner. Am I missing anything?” 

He blushed. “I don’t know why you care so much,” he muttered. “You don’t need a new holotable. This one,” he motioned over his shoulder, “works just fine.”

“It does not! And you know it doesn’t. Just last week it shorted out in the middle of your simulation!”

“But I fixed it,” he noted pointedly, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. “Good as new.” 

“It’s not new. That’s the point.” She ran a hand through her loose hair and hoped her curls made the kink from her ponytail less noticeable. “Not all of us have the fortune of already finding our soulmates. Some of us have to still look.”

He tucked his chin against chest and muttered something indiscernible in reply. 

She rolled her eyes. “Incorrigible,” she said under her breath before turning on her heels. 

…

“He wears a cuff,” Daisy noted as she reached across the table and snagged a fry from Lincoln’s plate. 

“Hm?” Jemma looked up from the stack of papers she was studying, a pencil tucked behind her ear. “Who does?”

“Fitz.” She gave a tilt of her head, motioning toward the cafeteria’s kitchen where Fitz was paying for his meal. “He wears a cuff on his wrist. I’m assuming it’s to cover up his soulmate’s name, but why?” 

“I think the better question is why should any of us care?” Jemma returned her gaze to her paperwork and flipped a page before pulling the pencil from behind her ear and marking a quick notation on the paper. 

“You don’t?”

“Not particularly,” she muttered.

“What if it’s you?”

She looked up at Daisy, suddenly bewildered. “I’ve only just met him.” Her voice sounded a touch too sharp even to her own ears. 

“Lincoln’s markings appeared when we first touched,” Daisy explained matter-of-factly. “On that amusement park ride.” 

“It did,” he confirmed with a nod of his head as he flicked his wrist to show off Daisy’s name before biting into his burger, his green eyes flashing humouredly. “She grabbed my arm on the ride.”

“It’s not me,” Jemma insisted, shaking her head, her cheeks burning. “I’m fairly certain he hates me.” 

“Is that why you’re always following him around the lab?” 

Lincoln burst out laughing, his guffaw so loud that heads turned in their direction. Jemma sunk deeper into her chair as her blush darkened and her shoulders rounded. 

“I do not follow him around!” she hissed. 

Daisy shrugged, a smug look on her face. “Whatever you say, Jemma.” 

“Besides,” she continued, straightening her shoulders defiantly and returning her attention to her papers. “He can’t be my match; his name isn’t Leo.” 

“That’s a good point,” Daisy replied, leaning forward again and grabbing another fry. “But no one says that you can’t have a little fun on your way to finding your match.” 

“Hey! Get your own!” Lincoln cried out in protest as he swatted at her hand. 

“What’s it feel like?” Daisy asked as she bit down on the stolen fry. 

“What’s what feel like? Having your fries stolen?” he asked, pulling his plate closer toward him and further out of Daisy’s reach. “It’s horrible. Especially since you can buy your own damn fries.” 

She tapped against the underside of her own wrist where the name Lincoln was imprinted. “The markings. I’ve always wondered. Did you feel anything?”

Lincoln glanced down. “It hurt like--” He shook his head at the memory. “It’s a bit like an electrical surge, I guess. It stings in the moment, then minutes later you’re fine.” 

“Is that why you screamed when we first met?” 

“Thatwastherollarcoaster,” he said quickly and held out his plate. “Fries?” 

Daisy leaned forward and pointed, a grin wide upon her lips. “It was! You wimp!” 

“I’m not a--”

Jemma abruptly kicked back her chair and stood up, tucking her papers under her arm and grabbing her tray. “I’ve got to get back to the lab, we just got a batch of new samples in from the Hub and--”

Daisy waved dismissively. “Go! You wouldn’t want to keep Fitz waiting.” 

Jemma opened her mouth to protest but thought the better of it. She didn’t owe Daisy an explanation; her friend knew better than anyone the advantages of finding her mate, if her studio filled with servers and expensive computer equipment was any indication. Jemma turned and quickly made her way across the cafeteria, depositing her tray on the collection trolley before exiting for the elevators. 

She pulled her papers from under her arm and hugged them against her chest. Daisy was wrong, she thought to herself as she waited for the elevator to arrive. She did not follow Fitz around. If anything he followed her. 

“How was your date last night?” 

She could feel the blood rush from her face at the sound of his voice. Somehow, in her deliberate attempt at avoiding discussion about soulmate markings and Fitz, she’d run straight into Fitz. 

Maybe she really was following him. 

“Oh-- ter-terrible,” she stuttered truthfully before entering the newly opened elevator. 

“Yeah?” His voice sounded strangely hopeful. But that was impossible.

She cleared her throat and shook her head of the strange thoughts that had suddenly invaded her mind. “Wrong Leo, I guess.” 

“Can’t win ‘em all, I suppose.” 

Fitz rubbed at his cuff, the action drawing her attention downward. The question was on her lips, she was curious, even though she’d never admit it to Daisy. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. Maybe his soulmate was a horrible woman and he was ashamed of her. Or maybe she was someone famous, like a model or-- 

_No._ She shook her head. _Not a model._ His soulmate had to be ugly, she probably had a large wart on her-- 

“Are you okay?”

“Hm?” She looked up, startled from her thoughts. 

“It’s just… you were staring.” He tucked his hand behind his back and leaned against the wall of the elevator as if he was doing his best to conceal his markings from her. 

“Why do you wear a cuff?” she blurted without a second thought. 

He blinked. “Sorry?” 

Jemma’s mind raced, desperate to come up with something, _anything_ , that might even remotely sound like cuff. She sighed, resigned when nothing came to mind. “Why do you wear a cuff?” she mumbled quickly, her gaze falling to the floor. “If she found you, why do you hide the markings?” 

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Fitz scratch his fingers along his jawline, her question hanging in the air for a few, breathless moments. 

He shrugged. “I’m fairly certain she hates me.”

Jemma looked up and narrowed her eyes, her brows furrowed with confusion. She couldn’t help but think that he was lying. Certainly he didn’t act as if he’d come into the wealth promised to the soulmates. 

The elevator jerked to a stop and the doors opened. Fitz stepped out of the car and onto their floor. 

“You coming?”

She gently shook her head, clearing it of the myriad of questions that had immediately sprung to mind. “Yeah, I’m coming,” she replied, following him toward the lab. 

....

Okay. So maybe Fitz wasn’t half as bad as she’d initially thought he was. As the weeks went on, Jemma started to notice a different side to Fitz. He still refused to tell her his last name, and he still actively hid his name badge from her, but at some point it stopped even mattering. She began to enjoy his company so much that she didn’t even question what she did and didn’t know about him. 

Jemma wasn’t entirely certain whether Fitz still wore his cuff as he’d gotten better at hiding it. The weather had turned and she’d noticed that he’d begun to wear a variety of knitted cardigans atop his standard dress shirts. While she’d secretly mourned the loss of his rolled up shirtsleeves that had pulled taut against his biceps, it had resulted in her no longer giving the cuff a second thought.

As lab partners, they’d somehow managed to find a happy medium and, as it turned out, they were quite the pair. They worked easily in tandem; the science natural and instinctual to the both of them. They finished each other’s sentences, challenged each other’s conclusions, collaborated and ultimately enhanced what they each already knew and understood. 

They were a scientific force to be reckoned with at S.H.I.E.L.D. and their most recent collaboration-- drones which behaved as independent forensics and data collecting agents-- went straight into development. According to Coulson, hundreds of municipalities and police agencies across the country were interested in ordering the retrieval drones and more were expected by the close of the month. It would potentially be the highest grossing product in S.H.I.E.L.D history. 

They’d been so busy with prepping their designs for manufacture and patenting the components that Jemma had stopped looking altogether for her Leo. It’d been an unconscious choice that had come naturally along the way, but she couldn’t say that she’d regretted it. It just seemed incredibly unimportant to worry about money and romance when she and Fitz were changing the way that people investigated crimes across the country and around the world. 

However, Daisy without fail, continued to encourage Jemma to sow her oats with Fitz, but Jemma couldn’t bring herself to use him in that way. She valued their partnership and new-found friendship and didn’t want to jeopardize it. And, strangely, she was starting to actually like being around him. 

Maybe a little too much. Or maybe she was simply a victim of Daisy’s incessant, off-colour suggestions.

What she refused to admit to Daisy or anyone else for that matter, was that she’d started to catch herself daydreaming in the lab as she watched Fitz work. She begun to find herself wondering what it’d be like to feel him pressed up against her. Did he kiss languidly or quick and with purpose? Was he all hands or was he shy and reserved, waiting for just the right moment? When he made love, was he strong and dexterous or lithe and passionate? 

With the increased number of late nights they spent together at the lab, Jemma found herself fantasizing about Fitz more and more. The questions occupied their silent moments and she’d wind up lost in thought as she’d watch him nimbly fasten this piece or that to the prototypes that they were working on. She wished she felt more regret over the purposeful ways that she’d brush against him or how she’d let her hand linger a little too long after passing him a tool that he’d asked for. But she didn’t; not in the least. 

“Jemma?”

She jumped to attention, again caught in one of her daydreams. 

“Sorry, did you need the flux inhibitor?” she asked quickly as she scrambled to her feet. Jemma had turned in a full circle before she realized that she’d already given him the flux inhibitor minutes earlier. 

Fitz straightened and placed his hand at his hip, his eyes narrowing as he stepped toward her. “Is something wrong?”

“No!” Jemma pressed her fingertips to her temple, searching for an excuse. “I’m just a bit famished, I suppose.”

Fitz chuckled and Jemma exhaled a tiny sigh of relief. 

“We both know that I’m always peckish,” he said with a laugh. “So who am I to judge? Want to take a break for a bit and get something to eat?” 

Jemma nodded, eager to wake herself from the daze she’d entered. 

The restaurant they’d eventually decided on seemed innocent enough at first. The Falcon was a hole-in-the-wall sort of pub just off of Main and Lanchester where the menu was messily written on a chalkboard that hung over the bar. They kicked at peanut shells as they walked to their table and there was a distinct smell of beer mixed with something unidentifiable that lingered in the air. The music was a touch too loud; the screaming guitar riffs of some awful punk band played over the loudspeaker and made it almost impossible to hear the person standing next to you. Normally Jemma would’ve avoided such establishments, but Daisy swore that The Falcon served the best fish and chips in town. Jemma could never resist the allure of authentic fish and chips, especially the kind that came wrapped in newspaper. 

Besides, it seemed like as good a place as any to visit with with a platonic friend. You certainly didn’t go to The Falcon on a date. 

And Fitz most certainly was not her date. 

A date was arranged in advance. Dates met at a restaurant which played soft, classical music and served overpriced wine. The man would bring flowers and he would smell of expensive cologne and insist on pulling out the woman’s chair as she sat. If Jemma was on a date, she would’ve planned to wear her red, cleavage baring dress and she most definitely would’ve curled her hair. 

Dinner with Fitz at The Falcon was certainly not a date. It was a meal between colleagues and lab partners who also happened to be friends. They’d come from work; she was wearing dark jeans, a blouse that accentuated none of her assets and her hair was still in a ponytail. 

But if it wasn’t a date, she wondered, why did she feel breathless when the back of his hand brushed against hers as he reached for the vinegar? 

_His name wasn’t Leo!_

_His name wasn’t Leo_ had become her mantra long ago; it was something she clung on to. It warned her away, reminding her not to let herself get too close.

That night though something indefinable changed between them. Maybe she’d imagined it or maybe it was the beers she’d already consumed playing with her understanding of reality. They had just finished another side-splitting round of roshambo when a loose tendril had escaped from her ponytail. Frankly, she hadn’t even noticed; she’d been too caught up feigning interest in paper beating rock while admiring the blue of his eyes and thinking that it reminded her of the ocean. But Fitz had noticed and at the exact moment she’d gotten lost in another daydream, he’d reached out and scooped the errant piece of hair behind her ear. 

Maybe he’d said something that she hadn’t heard because of the loud music or maybe it was just the action itself, but she startled from her reverie, afraid of what had suddenly surfaced in her. Friends didn’t-- well, they certainly didn’t feel the rush of desire from a brush of fingertips against a temple.

Jemma pushed her chair back and stood up quickly, almost toppling it in the process.

“I need to--” She scrambled for the -nth time in his presence, desperate for an excuse, something that would explain away what had apparently settled into her chest without her even realizing it. 

_His name wasn’t Leo!_

Without finishing her sentence, she rushed toward the half-lit neon sign that pointed the way to the restrooms. Maybe a cold splash of water against her face would help, anything to cool her -- 

“What’s going on?”

She jumped, startled by the sound of his voice and the feel of Fitz’s hand hooking on her elbow. She pressed her palm against her chest and turned in the tiny hallway, her shoulder nicking at the door frame of the ladies’ lav as Fitz’s hand fell to his side. 

“I’m fine,” she insisted breathlessly. “I think the beers have just gotten to me a bit…”

Fitz frowned, his brows furrowing with confusion as he stepped toward her. “You’ve never been a very good liar, you know.”

How it had happened, Jemma couldn’t be sure. She’d opened her mouth to protest and before she could utter a single word, his lips had found hers and her back hit the strangely sticky wall of the hallway. The feel of him was better than she could’ve imagined, more than she’d ever dreamed possible in a dank, smelly hallway of a seedy bar. She slinked her hands upward and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to further deepen their kiss. She felt his hands snake up the back of her loose blouse, his warm palms gently caressing her skin. He fumbled at the hook of her bra and she grinned wildly against his lips, all modesty she’d ever believed she’d had disappearing in an instant.

What she would’ve done if the barkeep hadn’t coughed loudly and purposefully, she couldn’t be sure. But as it was, they sprung apart like two teenagers caught on a darkened porch. 

“I think you’d better be going,” the man suggested with a knowing cock of his eyebrow. “This isn’t that kind of place.”

Jemma could’ve laughed at the irony of his statement and she probably would’ve if Fitz hadn’t taken her by the hand and tugged her flush against him. “I’m jus’ down the street…” he whispered into her ear.

The surety in his movement and the thickness of his brogue silenced her and she could only find the wherewithal to nod her reply. It didn’t matter that his name wasn’t Leo and if she was being completely honest with herself, she didn’t quite care if she ever met another Leo again. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

...

Jemma awoke to find an arm draped over her shoulder and across her breast. While she felt a warm and comfortable weight at her back, she was momentarily confused and it took her several moments to remember exactly where she was. She smiled and leaned purposefully back into Fitz, remembering fondly the sequence of events that led to her ending up in his bed. 

She sighed contently and selfishly allowed the tips of her fingers to run along the skin of his forearm. He was warm to the touch and she resisted the urge to wake him, knowing full well that they both had a long work day ahead of them. Their presentation to the buyers of their drones was in a few days and they still had so much that still needed to be finalized. 

Her index finger hooked onto his pinky and he shifted behind her, grumbling slightly before burrowing himself further into the crook of her neck. She glanced down as his arm twisted, pulling her tighter against him. In the soft haze of the morning sun that filtered through his crooked blinds, she noticed the hint of a dark, cursive A at the edge of his wrist. 

A chill coursed through her veins and her stomach curled at the sight. In her pursuit of satisfying her own libidinousness, she’d forgotten one very important problem: Fitz’s true soulmate. 

He knew she hadn’t found hers, but it was perfectly clear that he’d found his. 

She kicked back the covers and sat up abruptly, jostling Fitz from his sleep as she reached for her knickers that hung embarrassingly off the edge of the nightstand. 

“What’s wrong?” Fitz asked groggily as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “You’re not leaving, are you?” 

Jemma pretended she didn’t hear the marked disappointment in his voice and quickly tugged her pants and jeans on. “Yes,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us.” 

“Jemma--” Fitz whined, patting his hand on the mattress and the empty spot next to him, oblivious to her distress. “There’s still hours before we need to be in the lab. The sun’s barely even out.”

She turned as she pulled her blouse over her head, deciding to go without her bra which appeared to be lost somewhere in Fitz’s apartment. “We both know this,” she motioned between them as she purposefully kept her eyes downcast, “isn’t a reality. It’s a fantasy.”

“What?!” He sat straight up and threw his feet to the floor. 

The corners of her lips quirked downward as she fought to hide her disappointment. “You have a soulmate,” she whispered simply, her words barely audible. 

“Jemma--” He stepped toward her, unencumbered. “Will you just--”

She shook her head, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “They’d never let us be together.”

“Who?”

“Them!” She threw her arm out as if to illustrate her point. “The government! For bloody sakes, even evolution itself deems it improbable! We’re not a match. It can only end in disappointment.” She straightened her shoulders and met his gaze, hoping both choices would convey an iota of truth. “I value our friendship,” she said, her voice a touch too robotic and unconvincing. “I can’t have it become an irreparable mistake.”

“Will you just--” He pointed to his wrist and she closed her eyes, turning her head. She didn’t want to see; she couldn’t bear it. 

“I have to go.” She grabbed for her purse and bolted for the front door, deafening herself to his cries of protest.


	2. Chapter 2

Jemma always had a thirst to uncover the mysteries of living organisms; it’s what led her to pursue biochemistry in the first place. Once, while studying for her entrance exams, she’d looked down and wondered absently why she had been tagged with the name _Leo_. It was such a strange evolutionary marking. And why, for that matter, had only women been tagged at birth?

It became a bit of an obsession for her throughout her undergrad and she was barely sixteen when Oxford published her thesis on the origins of the neogens that collected below the surface of the skin in all newborn females. But she still wasn’t sated. She didn’t quite understand the evolutionary advantage to each girl receiving a particular name and why, hauntingly, that name had time and time again led to the right person. It couldn’t be just about procreation and the survival of the species; she’d found that almost 35% of women who’d found their matches were childless. It almost seemed that there was something more, something that science couldn’t explain. 

At best she’d concluded that the women suffered from some psychosomatic disorder which led them to easily accept that they’d found the right person once they’d recognized a name-match. She hypothesized that women who held unusual names like Daisy, were far more susceptible to settling happily into their expected role once they’d found their mate. But for those with absurdly popular names like the myriad of Jemmas and Leos, it was much harder to believe that there was such a thing as a soulmate. 

It was most especially difficult to believe when, for the 346th time since she’d turned 18, she was on a date with a hulking mass of an imbecilic man who’d been named Leo in the same year she’d been named Jemma.

“Are you even paying attention?” 

Jemma blinked and looked up as she stabbed an unappetizing leaf of lettuce with her fork. “Sorry?” 

“I was telling you about my circuit training. You looked like you’d zoned out there.” 

Jemma dropped her fork against her plate and reached for her purse. She pulled several bills from her wallet and slapped them on the table. 

“Part of me thinks you mean the circuitry and wiring of a noninverting amplifier; but I’m imagining you actually mean weight lifting.” 

Leo frowned, staring at the money. “Of course I mean weightlifting,” he said. His gaze darted upward to meet hers. “What the hell is a noninverting amplifier?” 

“Right then,” she said with a terse smile as she stood and slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and stood. “Have a great night. It’s been a pleasure.” 

As Jemma exited the restaurant and walked onto the sidewalk, she pulled her sweater tighter across her chest in defence against the cool air. Since her night with Fitz days earlier, she’d tried desperately to reclaim some semblance of professionalism in the lab, but she couldn’t ignore the almost constant weight of his gaze upon her. She couldn’t even look at Fitz properly any more. He’d purposefully stopped wearing his cuff and had started to roll up his shirtsleeves again. It seemed as if he was practically flaunting the name at his wrist, making planning for their presentation all the more difficult. 

She knew that there was a distinct possibility that her hypothesis had been correct and that the markings were meaningless, but she’d found herself wondering just the same whether there really was someone out there perfectly matched for her. And even more strangely, she’d begun to feel unquestionably miserable and hollow whenever she considered that there might be a Maria, Jessica or Natalia better suited to him. 

“You’re in love with him,” Daisy remarked simply when Jemma called her later that night to tell her about her 346th failure of a date. 

“Who? The meathead?” 

“Fitz, dummy!” Daisy said with a laugh. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed the way you stare at him all the time. I mean, I realize we teased you about it before, but you’re a walking heart eyes emoji whenever he’s near. Lincoln’s been taking bets on when you two will finally stop being nerds about everything and just get on with it.”

Jemma closed her eyes, her heart sinking at the revelation. “We’re just… I’m not-- He’s not...” 

“A blind man could see how googly-eyed you two are,” Daisy said with a chuckle. “Besides, neither of you strike me as the type to have casual, one time only flings. That, I don’t think I’m wrong about.”

Jemma exhaled deeply and audibly. She may have had 346 dates with 346 Leos, but she most certainly wasn’t that sort of girl.

“How’ve things been since--” Jemma could almost hear Daisy’s knowing grin and see her wagging her eyebrows through the phone.

“Tense,” she admitted, silently cursing the neurotransmitters that sent her heart aflutter at the very thought of Fitz. “I can barely even look at him.”

“Still don’t want to know about the name, huh?”

“Not particularly, but if he keeps at it, I don’t know if I can avoid it.” 

“Maybe it’s better to just face the music,” Daisy suggested.

Jemma shook her head. “I couldn’t bear it.”

“Just confront the situation head on. Ask about her. Maybe she’s some troll that lives under a bridge. Besides, you never did confirm that the neogens were psychosomatic.” 

Jemma blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. 

Daisy laughed. “What?” She said. “I pay attention.”

Jemma sighed and pressed her fingers to her temple, her confusion over just about everything had made the pounding in her head grow even more piercing “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“When you first met Lincoln, how did you know? I mean aside from the spark and all that nonsense that the media tries to sell about finding _The One_. I mean it is possible that it was psychological, right?”

“Jemma, I’ve known you a long time. I met you long before I ever met Lincoln and you know damn well that I never gave a rat’s ass about finding my match. I could’ve gone my life having never met my match and I would’ve been happy as a clam.”

“They’re not quite happy, more cont--”

“That’s not the point,” Daisy interrupted. “What I’m trying to say is that maybe the whole thing's a sham. But maybe it’s not. When I found Lincoln, it was like my whole world changed; he saw things in me that I never thought possible. He made me a better person. The name at my wrist was just a name. I’d never given it a second thought, you know that. But I’ll tell you one thing, Jemma: I love Lincoln and that’s a fact. You might have a million different sciency ways to explain where that feeling comes from, but I know one thing for certain: no weird wrist tattoo can create that feeling.”

“If the selection process is real, then any feelings outside of it would be ephemeral.” 

Daisy chuckled. “I’m going to leave the science to you. But if you have feelings for him-- real, legitimate feelings-- it won’t matter what’s at your wrist and it might not be ephemeral.”

Jemma knew that arguing with Daisy over the laws of science would be fruitless. There was cause and effect to the universe; there was always an innate plan at work. No energy in the universe was ever just created! 

“Give it some thought when you’re more clear headed; before you throw it all away. You never know what could happen.”

“But--”

“Just wait until after the presentation at least. Then you can really take stock of things.” 

Against her better judgement, Jemma took Daisy’s advice. She hung her head, avoided eye contact with Fitz and tried her best to ignore the way her autonomic pathways and her blasted limbic system betrayed her whenever he was nearby. While it took every ounce of resilience she had left to avoid engaging in conversation that didn’t revolve around their presentation, she somehow managed it. And, thankfully, she also managed to avoid a glimpse of the name at his wrist. 

“Fitz, Simmons, are you ready?” Coulson asked as he casually fingered the top button of his suit jacket and looped it into the appropriate buttonhole. 

Jemma nodded, twisting her fingers at her waist and shot a glance at Fitz. He also nodded in agreement and hugged their research notes against his chest. 

Coulson reached out and pressed his hand against Fitz’s shoulder. “Don’t be nervous,” he said, directing his advice to the both of them. “This is just a formality; you’ll both be great. Just do your science thing; it’s what they’re looking for. It’ll help build their confidence in the product.” 

“We understand, sir,” Jemma said with a nod. 

“Good, I’ll get us started then.” 

As Coulson took the stage, Fitz began to pace, muttering his lines under his breath, seemingly rehearsing for one last time. If Jemma hadn’t been so decidedly focused on her own part in the presentation, she would’ve likely found his devotion to their success endearing and positively delightful. 

“The chemosensory system is intrinsic to the mechanical output.” He crossed in front of her and threw his hands outward, motioning as if to the drones. 

Jemma watched, as if in slow motion, as Fitz lost his grip on their notes, sending them flying to the ground. She lunged forward, her cry of warning drowned out by the welcoming applause that echoed from the audience. 

He squeaked in horror and dropped to his knees, grabbing at the papers closest to his feet. “What’ve I done?” he hissed, his cheeks red with embarrassment. 

Jemma kneeled next to him, helping collect several more errant papers. “It’s fine,” she said as calmly as she could muster, even though she felt impossibly apprehensive and certain that they were done in for. As she tapped a collection of papers together, a thought occurred to her. “Wait!” She said. “I put page numbers on them yesterday. See?” She grinned with relief and pointed to the top corner of one of the sheets. “Besides,” she added encouragingly, bumping his shoulder with her own. “You’ve memorized everything; you’ll be brilliant. We’re going to be brilliant together.”

Fitz looked up at her, stunned. “You think so?”

She met his gaze for the first time in days. “I know so,” she said surely, with a nod of her head. 

His blue eyes flashed with something indefinable before he sucked in a nervous breath. “Jemma, there’s something you should know--”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Coulson’s voice boomed through the speakers, startling them both to attention. They scrambled to their feet and quickly put the papers into their proper order. 

Whatever it was that Fitz had intended on telling her was long forgotten as he tugged nervously at his tie and she pressed at the invisible wrinkles in her blouse

“Rare is the occasion that I have to introduce the brains behind what we do here at S.H.I.E.L.D,”

Fitz reached for her hand and squeezed it and she gave him a soft, grateful smile in return. Whatever it was that had passed between them and had caused them to seek each other out that night at the Falcon no longer seemed to matter. When all was said and done, together they made excellent partners in science and not even evolutionary advantage could prevent that from occurring. 

“But it is my absolute pleasure to allow the creators of the Drones Wirelessly Automated to Retrieve Forensics--”

This was it: their moment in the spotlight. 

“D.W.A.R.Fs, that is,” Coulson added with a chuckle and the audience responded similarly.

“Here we go,” she whispered, her heart beating a little quicker with anticipation. 

“Together they’ll show you exactly how incredibly diverse and manipulable this product is and how it will change the way that investigations across the world are completed.”

“We’re going be great,” he replied with a crooked grin that she’d always found far too intoxicating. 

“--So without further ado, let me introduce the very best that S.H.I.E.L.D has to offer: Doctors Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons!” 

If there was thunderous applause at their introduction, Jemma failed to hear it. It was as if all sound had disappeared and had been replaced with a deafening, yet hollow echo. Fitz, oblivious to her shock, had given her hand one last squeeze before dropping it to exit onto the stage. Jemma however, felt disembodied, frozen in spot as her blood ran cold, thousands of muddled thoughts obscuring any rational ones. _She must’ve misheard._

Jemma watched as Fitz walked with confidence to the center of the stage where their drones display had been set up. He turned, clearly expecting her at his side. When he discovered that she was still in the wings of the stage, he shot her a confused look and motioned subtly for her to join him. 

_His name wasn’t Leo!_

She shook her head. _Leo_ Fitz? _Fitz was his last name?_

She swallowed thickly, stunned to her very core. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to organize her confused and jumbled thoughts. 

“Jemma?” Suddenly Fitz was at her side, his hand upon her shoulder, shaking her to attention. “Is everything okay? Are you okay?” 

She blinked and shook her head. “Your name… I thought your name was Fitz.” 

“Jemma. We have to--” He motioned over his shoulder and toward the empty stage. “Come on. We can’t talk about this now...” He tugged her by the hand and she followed him blindly onto the brightly lit stage.

He took immediate charge of the demonstration while she stood dimly next to him. He rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows and revealed once and for all exactly what she’d been avoiding. Her gaze was instinctively drawn to his wrist and her eyes focused on the cursive _Jemma_ that was found there.

“-- and it’s entirely possible for the D.W.A.R.Fs to be calibrated to suit the needs of any jurisdiction. Dr. Simmons will speak to that--”

She startled to attention at the sound of her name. “Sorry?” she said with a shake of her head, willing her bewilderment away. 

Fitz gave her a worried look. “The calibration?” he prompted. 

She blinked twice and registered at long last where she was and what she was meant to be doing. “Right,” she said shakily. “The calibration,” she parroted slowly, “can be modified to record the dimensions and textures of rooms--”

“Others,” Fitz continued, matching her methodical tone, “test for matter density, even radiation.” He tapped his fingers across his tablet and the drones flew upward and out into the audience. 

Jemma straightened her shoulders as the audience cooed with amazement as the drones swooped and soared above them. “One is basically just smelling!” She declared with increased confidence, shooting Fitz a grin. 

The audience applauded as the drones’ scans and calculations processed on a large screen behind Fitz and Jemma.

They were, as Coulson had intimated, the success of S.H.I.E.L.D’s SciTech division. What had initially been only a few hundred orders for the D.W.A.R.Fs blossomed into a few thousand. When their presentation had ended with a thunderous standing ovation, they’d been quickly escorted off stage to an interview platform where a media scrum bombarded them with even more questions. The remainder of their day had flashed by before Jemma had even realized it and she’d almost managed to forget the day’s earlier… _hiccup._

Almost, until the last of the press and even Coulson himself had left them to the solitude of the stage where they’d begun to carefully pack away the D.W.A.R.Fs. Truly, Jemma had forgotten about the name at Fitz’s wrist until his hand familiarly hooked at her elbow. 

“Jemma?”

It was the throaty sound of her name on his lips that reminded her of the truth. She glanced away and down, her hand rubbing anxiously at the cuff of her blouse. She didn’t know how to begin; what the right thing was to say, how she could even begin to explain herself. 

Fitz’s warm hands gently covered hers before his finger nimbly unhooked the button at her wrist. She swallowed past the lump in her throat as he carefully revealed the _Leo_ that was written there by rolling back her sleeve. He lined her wrist next to his, matching her _Leo_ to his _Jemma._

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Did you-- Lincoln said that…” she grimaced at her inability to formulate a coherent sentence. “When? When did you know?” 

“From the first day.” 

“But you hated me,” she whispered with disbelief. “You’d practically recoiled when we met!” 

He shook his head and she briefly met his knowing gaze. 

Her eyes widened as realization dawned on her. “Oh.”

He gave a sheepish, lopsided smile and shrugged his shoulders. “I thought you hated _me_. It’s why I wore the cuff. Why I hid it from you.”

She let her fingers trace over the letters of her name. “I wanted--” she began, her voice shaky as she looked up at him. “I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you, so badly.” 

Fitz’s lips quirked slightly as he stepped toward her. “I thought you’d said the neogens were psychoso--”

“Shut up!” She declared, the words cresting on a breathless laugh as she reached up and wrapped her hand at the base of his neck. His lips lowered onto hers, immediately silencing them both on the matter. 

As Fitz pulled her tighter against him and his hands found their place at her back, even Jemma could admit with a relieved, yet satisfied smile, that her original hypothesis had been flawed. Neogens or no neogens, being held in Fitz’s arms felt right. It felt fated.

Not that she believed in fate.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
